


Age of Flax. Age of Clay

by fresne



Category: The Epic of Gilgamesh
Genre: Implied Past Trauma, M/M, Mutual Pining, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: “O my lord, you do not know this monster and that is the reason you are not afraid. I who know him, I am terrified.”Enkidu, Epic of GilgameshThey came to each other not new to the world. Not innocent, but chipped. Tattered just a bit. So, then, how may love mend? Listen.
Relationships: Enkidu/Gilgamesh (Mesopotamian Mythology)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Age of Flax. Age of Clay

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as ever, to my Beta.

+++

Gilgamesh adjusted the sack of stones over his shoulder. Heavy as bricks with no names written on them. Sharp and jagged, they dug into his back with each step. Nothing like the touch of a companion’s hand. 

Nothing like a triumph. 

It was to have been a triumph. There were to have been jubilant heroes on brilliant red chariots. Their horses were to have had flax ribbons in their manes. There were to have been two companions to a chariot. Light hands on the reigns. Rough hands in the two-fold dance that pleased capricious Inanna. Shining smiles in the light of the sun, her twin the constant Shamash.

It was how they’d set off. He and the young heroes of Uruk. The young bulls they’d called themselves. Each of them eager to write their name upon history. Write their names upon the bricks of Uruk. Celebrating a victory that they had not yet shaped, much less placed in the kiln. 

How they’d raced along this road to Mount Ebih. 

Mountain of glory. 

Mountain of pride. 

Mountain of dust. 

To the place where the dragon, Kur, brooded over the valley, casting his ill shadow. To defeat a creature that set his ill influence even towards the gods.

It was to have been.

Gilgamesh's mouth tasted of ash. His tongue dry as a cake left too long in the oven. A treat for no one. His kilt was covered with the dust of the road, embroidery turned grey. The horses were scattered to the wild herds. The sons of his city likewise scattered. 

Behind him, Gilgamesh felt the shadow that Mount Ebih cast at his back. It set his skin to itching as if he lay on an ant mound. The shadow of a low bush whispered, “They left you, the companions who swore to stand with you. They who cared only for glory found none. They fled like a flock of birds.” A gust of sand slapped at his feet.

“What of it?” whispered back Gilgamesh from a raw throat parched by the desert. “I took your precious stones. Your lapis lazuli. I defeated you.” 

“You survived and grabbed trinkets as you ran,” laughed the shadow of a shrub. “Little bird with a shiny stone in your mouth. You don't even know why the twins sent you to me.” The brittle brush on either side of the road laughed and laughed. 

Gilgamesh turned his face to the sun. “O, Shamash, you were the one who put this journey in my heart. What will I do if you do not help me?”

In answer, Shamash cast a sunbeam spear that landed deep in the sand. Dry brush blazed into flame. Gilgamesh ran ahead of the flames while the shadows jeered. 

When Gilgamesh stopped, the fire and shadows were far behind. He was alone.

All the long day, the sun's path guided Gilgamesh. But Shamash drove a swift chariot, while Gilgamesh was on foot. The sun set, leaving Gilgamesh alone beneath the wheel of stars. 

Erratic Inanna’s star was no guide to follow in the night. Gilgamesh’s feet were heavy as if encased in clay. His heart ached more than the burn on his arm from Kur’s fiery breath and the scorch on his leg from his patron god's aide.

Gilgamesh made camp by the road. He turned restlessly, until Shamash blessed him with a calming dream that washed over him like summer rain on the desert dust. 

In his dream, Gilgamesh was surrounded by his companions. The bulls of Uruk. They had not abandoned him at all. They walked with him under Sky Father Anu’s wheel of stars. One of those stars fell from the sky. It burned with a brilliant blue-white light. It was warm to the touch. Gilgamesh tried to lift the star, but could not. Everyone in the city of Uruk came out of the city walls to see it. They marvelled at it, but Gilgamesh didn't just marvel. He longed for the star. His love was greater than the two-fold dance of Inanna. It was that love that helped him. He braced himself and lifted it.

In his dream, he left his companions far behind. Dim shadows that melted into the dark.

He took the star to his mother. She smiled gently at Gilgamesh and the star pressed against his chest. 

He woke as she said, “This is your other half.” Those words echoed in his ears as he woke to the dawn. 

With the first rays of Shamash's light, Giglamesh saw the pride of Uruk peak over the horizon. It was no mountain of stone, but of bricks that had been kilned by the people of Uruk in praise of the gods. The white temple perched on the shoulders of the great ziggurat at the heart of Uruk. His father had built that temple on the instructions of his goddess mother and with the help of the Apkallu, the seven sages. On the comfort of that sight, Gilgamesh pushed himself to his feet and continued his journey home. 

Gilgamesh arrived at the gates to be greeted by the mothers and fathers of his companions. 

Companions no more.

Though he’d had many leagues to plan his words, Gilgamesh had nothing but ash in his mouth. He had no words for them. He let the sack of precious stones fall onto the brick lined streets of Uruk. 

He walked past the whispering crowds. He went to the pens where his mother tended her charges. The wild cattle captured by trappers and brought to the enclosure to be tamed. Gentled by priestesses, who curried the heifers inside fences that kept the lions and wolves far away. Civilized bulls with bran mash mixed with beer after a life of searching for grass. Readied each for the labors of the city. 

There were more powerful gods than his mother. Shamash was his patron. Inanna was the patron god of the city. 

It was his mother, who opened her arms when she saw him. Goddess as she was, she enfolded him in her arms and did her best to ease his heart. 

When she finally let go, he expected her to remind him that she had warned him before he left. He expected her to shred his heart reminding him that she’d told him not to place his faith in his chariot companion. The one who had sworn never to leave his side. He expected her to call him seven kinds of fool for believing capricious Inanna would bless his journey with glory. 

She did not do that. 

Goddess as she was, Ninsun made a light step and carried him to her rooms in the white temple. Made a place upon her couch for him. Had her priestesses bring beer and bread, as if he were a skittish bull. 

In the city below, mothers and fathers raised cries of mourning to the gods. Gilgamesh knew he should get up. His limbs felt as if they were made of stone. 

The wheel of stars lit the night sky. In the city, candles of mourning were lit. 

Finally, Gilgamesh spoke. 

Not of Kur. 

He could not force those stones from his mouth.

Instead, Gilgamesh told his mother of his dream. 

His mother placed her hand upon his back. She rubbed circles of comfort as if he were a young calf. “My son, the star in your dream is a strong companion who will help you in your time of need. He’s,” she looked up and away as if weaving the words from the stars, “the strongest of wild creatures. Made from the very stuff of Anu. When you see him, your heart will lift, and…” she looked into his eyes, “you will love him as the warp loves the weft. Apart they are unable to complete their purpose. Together they are the loom. That is what your dream means.” 

He shook when he absorbed what his mother had said. He felt himself shattering like an ill made pot filled with boiling water. Gilgamesh moved away from his mother’s comforting hand. All he could see were the candles lit for his former companions as if they were dead. As if his companion of the chariot was dead. 

He could not trust what his mother had said. He could not trust his dream. He could not trust star stuff. He would have been happier if his mother had laid his heart bare by reminding him she’d warned him not to go to Mount Eibh. If she had berated him for failing to live up to the destiny of his bloodline. 

So he went to find comfort in the flow of beer and the touch of heated limbs. He went to find comfort in erratic Inanna’s two-fold dance and forget dreams entirely. 

+++

Enkidu left the green mountain at the heart of the forest of Humbaba in the dead of night. Heart sore. Mind troubled. There was no moon to guide his way. He didn’t need one. He was a creature of the wild. Even as he went, he cursed himself for leaving. 

Mother monkeys needed him to protect their children from blazing splendors. 

As if he had ever succeeded in doing more than being burned by splendor’s path.

Birds in their trees needed him to protect their nests from the hard paws of the ruler of this forest.

As if he had ever succeeded in doing more than being left bleeding.

In the dark, he wound his way around gouges in the earth made by mighty claws. The trees held whispering witness to his careful journey through the wide forest paths. 

Humbaba’s paths. 

Humbaba who never slept. Humbaba who was even now clawing the earth at the feet of his patron, Enlil, god of air and earth. Praising the god who granted Humbaba this kingdom of trees. 

Humbaba had sweet resin perfume words for Enlil. Enkidu was certain Humbaba had been meadow sweet to his kingdom once. To Enkidu. He thought he remembered that.

Enkidu passed a tree with a blackened heart. Bark scorched white by fire. The scent of new ash mingled with the smell of thick cedar resin. Protection against the protector.

For a long time, he'd told himself that this was how the forest was renewed. That flowers would grow from the ash. 

Now Enkidu put the ash in his hair and made his way out of the forest of Humbaba. 

Out into the wide grassland that had once been his home. Innocent curiosity had drawn him into the forest. Burned away. Better he had been lamed by a lion than have come to the forest of Humbaba. 

He attempted his old life. As easy as a snake crawling back into its own discarded skin. He grazed with the herds on grass. He had no mother or father to return to. Aruru, the goddess of creation, had made him from clay and set him loose, but never taken any interest in him.

The memory of Humbaba’s jeers was the buzzing of insects that come to eat all the green grass. 

He overturned trappers traps. Filled in pits. He could do that. He could protect the wild cattle. He could keep the gazelles and deer free of fear from the lion’s pride.

Except when he failed. Enkidu was a man. He needed to sleep. His eyes closed. He could not hear a sixty leagues away. 

He failed.

It wasn’t pride that was in his thoughts when he saw the priestess by the watering place. When she invited him into her arms, he went willingly. He wanted to forget himself. He wanted to forget all he’d been.

After they lay together, he forgot. He lost the speech of the gazelles and wild bulls. He could no longer eat the long sweet grass. The priestess, Shamat, comforted him and made a place for him to sleep. With a heavy heart, he fell into an exhausted sleep. 

Enkidu dreamed that he was an axe such as might be used to fell men or trees. He fell from the sky into a strange place of clay walls decorated with the images of beasts. He fell in front of a towering white building that glittered in the sunlight. The air was sweet as a meadow and heavy as cedar resin. There was no grass. There were no flowers. There were no trees. Only beautiful people wrapped in intricately woven fabric of many colors and patterns. 

They were nothing to him. Not until one man arrived, who was taller and more beautiful than all the rest. Whose strong chest gleamed like burnished olivewood. Whose strong legs were like the trunks of cedars. This man glowed with an inner light. His teeth were brilliant white in a thick black beard. Enkidu didn't need to see the crown on the man's head to know that this was a great king.

In his dream, Enkidu longed for the man. Delighted when the king was the only one who could pick Enkidu up. When it was this beautiful man, who cleaned the ash from Enkidu's blade. Who oiled and cared for him. In his dream, Enkidu felt loved.

When he woke, there tears in his eyes. He told his dream to the priestess, who looked into the water of the pool. She considered the ripples and said, “The city in your dream must be Uruk. It's the only city as wonderful as you’ve just described." She winked at him. "I am from Uruk. The people are beautiful there. The air is always sweet and every day is a celebration. The king, Gilgamesh, has the blood of the gods. Like the gods, he lords it over the people. Capricious and driven for glory.” 

A splendid scar hurt in Enkidu’s chest at that. A king ought to care for his people. He said hotly, “Then I will go there and establish a new order. I’m the strongest. I will…” he looked away and said the bitter lie, “I am the strongest of all.”

He expected her to mock him, but she was kind. She said, “Where in your dream were you fighting Gilgamesh? No. You longed for him. A companion for your heart.” She moved his hand so it lay over his own heart. “He is your other half.” He pulled away from her. 

She sighed and made a kilt for him out of her robes so he could be clothed as men were. She took him to the trappers and shepherds, and had them teach him the ways of humans.

They showed him how they watched over and protected the herds as good shepherds should, and in their actions gave him a name for what he wished to be.

+++

Gilgamesh climbed heavily out of the shadow of the valley where the deepest abzu was. He carried a jar of bitter herbs. The clay was heavy and smooth. The waters of the deep abzu clung to his skin like blackest oil. Nothing like a companion in his arms. Nothing like glory. 

It was to have been glorious. They had left Uruk in rich chariots. The lightest wicker folded around the strongest frames. Each chariot brightly painted and pulled by prancing horses with flax ribbons braided in their manes. 

In the night, when they broke their journey, he and his companions had played the flute as pleased erratic Inanna in her two-fold dance. In the morning, they’d sung songs as pleased Shamash. 

But when they faced the guardians of the abzu, Inanna had sent no glory. Shamash had sent no blessing. His companions had scattered as quickly as the ones before them. A flock of birds.

Gilgamesh walked on under the light of Shamash. He whispered to his god, “Why do you put the desire for these journeys in my heart if you do not help me fulfill them?” 

He received no answer. 

Shamash made the crops grow in the fields. Shamash baked a man to a husk in the desert. 

Finally, Gilgamesh saw the white temple on the horizon. The pride of Uruk. White washed and sparkling with gypsum. He practiced what he’d say to his mother. What he would say when he arrived home. 

She had warned him not to go. She had warned him that his companions did not share the fire in his heart. She had warned him not to trust in Inanna’s promises of glory. She had told him to wait for the companion who was coming to him. 

He said none of the prepared words when he came through the mighty gates. He ignored the whispers of his people. He paid no attention to the looks of his people. He forced a raw throat to shout, “Time to celebrate the return of your king.” He gave the jar of bitter herbs to the priestesses to be taken to the white temple for the glory of the gods. 

He wrapped both arms around dancing bodies, and filled himself with a lust for life in erratic Inanna’s two-fold dance. Uruk was the greatest city in the world. Every day was a celebration. The dancing men and women smelled sweet. He was their great king. He told himself he was not failing his bloodline and the greatness from which he came.

Mourning candles guttering in wide windows. Dreams of falling stars and axes made of star steel, but the promised companion never came. Would never come. Gilgamesh feared in his deepest heart that his failures marked him as unworthy of such a companion.

Finally, drunk on ash, he shouted he’d go to the marriage house and take his rights as king. 

So Gilgamesh wrote his fate.

+++

Every day, Enkidu heard about the young king of Uruk. The shepherds spoke of the hero. One shepherd would say to their son longing for city splendors, “I hear that King Gilgamesh’s heart wanders. No son of the city is left with his father. I hear Gilgamesh takes them all.” 

Enkidu had longed for splendors once.

“This is no shepherd for his city,” agreed another. “I have heard that his lust leaves no virgin to their lover. Not the warrior’s daughter, nor wife of a noble.”

The trappers and shepherds would spit into the dust and agree that that it was a shame that this was the shepherd of the city and pray that the gods send someone to reform him.

Enkidu had believed in such prayers once. Believed love could reform cruelty.

All the sons and daughters of the camp would sigh and say, “I hear that he’s beautiful." Another might say, "I hear that he is tireless in the two-fold dance of Inanna.” They would laugh. "I hear he is skilled in playing the flute in erratic Inanna's two-fold dance."

Enkidu had been an innocent once. He knew what they meant.

Whenever he lay down to take his rest, he dreamed of falling from the sky. As a star. As an axe. As a mountain cracked into a stone to tumble to the king of Uruk’s feet. On waking, he remembered what it was to live for the kind of king Gilgamesh was said to be.

He was in that tender state of mind when a man came from Uruk to the camp. He said, “King Gilgamesh is going too far. He’s planning on entering the marriage house and lying with the bride before her husband.”

Enkidu could not stand another word. His thoughts chattered with memories. Monkeys. Birds. Trees. Jeers. Laughter. He said, “I will go to the city. I will throw this king down and show everyone that I am the new order.” 

Order. There had to be some sort of order to the world. 

He came to the great city gates. Small in comparison to the mountain gates of the forest of Humbaba. This was just a city of people. Small in comparison to all that would threaten them. In need of a good shepherd.

He went into the city. He ignored the people talking about him. They were quieter than the flocks of birds in the forest of Humbaba. 

He focused only on the fight that was to be. The fight for what was right. He came face to face with the man from his dream. He gritted his teeth and grappled with him at the door of the marriage house. Bellowed like a bull. 

They shook a clay building with the force of their bodies. They cracked walls. Shattered beautiful clay friezes of colorful animals. The sight of the image of a forest had Enkidu hesitating and he found himself flying through the air. Like in his dream, he found himself upon the ground looking up at the beautiful man. 

Enkidu tensed himself in expectation for what would happen next. He felt almost as if he were outside of his own body when Gilgamesh smiled broadly. Lifted him easily to his feet. Said, “I’ve been dreaming about your arrival, a companion to stand at my side.” The well known stranger knitted his fingers with Enkidu's and asked, “Have you been dreaming of me?” 

Enkidu nodded a shallow affirmation that was nothing to how fast his heart was beating. Hummingbird's wings. He looked up, but the stars above had no answers for him. He took a step back. Unraveled their hands. He pointed at the marriage house and forced out the words that must be said, “It was wrong of you to come here. A king should be a shepherd to his people.”

He expected an explosion. Humbaba had bristled like a pine at the first and every criticism.

Instead, Gilgamesh flushed. He said, “Fitful Inanna is the twin sister of faithful Shamash.” Squeezed a hand on Enkidu’s shoulder. “Let's go to the temple. I will take you to meet my mother.” 

Gilgamesh led Enkidu through clay brick structures. Up a man made mountain of clay. It was nothing in comparison to the mountain peaks of the gods.

Through a sapling garden of cedar forest in clay plots. The scent was almost enough to make Enkidu freeze, but Gilgamesh pulled Enkidu through it. 

They walked around the long glittering side of the building that tried to mimic the snowy mountain peaks until they came to a cave cool opening decorated in blue stones from Mount Eihb. 

The interior of the temple had a bitter scent. Like the herbs that grow in the abzu. 

Inside was a woman who could only be Gilgamesh's mother. Where Gilgamesh glowed with an inner light, Ninsun dazzled the eyes. She towered over every man and woman, even her son. Enkidu had never known a mother or father. He hardly knew what to do when the goddess pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. When she offered him cool water. When she made a place for him on a couch stuffed with sweet grass. She was so kind that Enkidu felt as low as the worm that crawls in the dust. 

His sealed his mouth against himself. Swallowed stone words in his throat.

He did not put his hand upon Gilgamesh’s back in answer to Gilgamesh’s touch, and Gilgamesh’s own hand fell away. He expected Ninsun’s gaze to harden. For hearts to harden against him as he deserved, but her eyes remained kind. 

Gilgamesh said, “A place should be prepared for you in my chambers so that you can remain by my side.” 

Ninsun patted her son’s cheek. She said,“Slowly my son. As the sun is to the soil above the seed.” Gilgamesh ducked his head, cheeks darkening. Enkidu’s heart ached at how beautiful he was. How perfect Gilgamesh was in all ways. This was a man blessed by the gods. With the blood of the gods in his veins.

He said nothing as Gilgamesh led him to his chambers. A clay brick room with walls decorated with friezes of brilliantly colored animals. Small in comparison to Humbaba's glade on his green mountain.

He said nothing when a bed was prepared by giggling servants at the left side of Gilgamesh’s bed. Nothing like the forest spiders weaving Humbaba's bed in the forest. Humbaba who never slept.

That night, Enkidu lay awake long after Gilgamesh fell into an easy sleep. His mind loud with chattering memories.

+++

Gilgamesh was eager for an adventure. 

And not. 

The gods had had played a part in Gilgamesh’s crafting, but Enkidu had crafted from the stars themselves by the goddess Aruru. Every part of Enkidu was purpose made for great deeds. He’d been raised by wild animals and been their protector. Suckled on the milk of wild horses and raced with them across the wide grass. Everything about his quiet strength and character made Gilgamesh ache. Feel shame at his past failures. Wonder if this companion would not also abandon him, not because of his own weakness, but because of Gilgamesh's

He told his mother this. She gave him bread and words. “This is the companion made for you. You're afraid because in the past you picked up companions like one in rush to begin cooking picks up any clay jar and selects one not made for the task of boiling water. When you placed that jar in the flames, it broke. Put the broken shards in the dustbin and take up the urn made for cooking."

Gilgamesh’s hand opened and closed. He could feel the soft hair that covered Enkidu’s body in his mind. He longed to feel it.

His mother sighed. “In adventure, you have found your companion. In love, be gentle. Go forward as if dealing with the wild cattle in the enclosure. You cannot know what burrs lie hidden in his matted hair, or what sharp stones Enkidu has walked upon along the way.”

Gilgamesh kneaded his mother’s words in his mind. As a potter kneads clay. 

He was still shaping his thoughts when he returned to his room, where Enkidu was just waking up. Enkidu’s beautiful brown eyes were soft from sleep. His long hair flowed over his back like that of a goddess. Gilgamesh wanted nothing more than to reach out to Enkidu. To stroke the hair that covered his body and discover if it was as soft as it seemed. To cause his eyes to focus on Gilgamesh as Gilgamesh played his flute. To writhe with him in erratic Inanna’s two-fold dance.

But Enkidu was an innocent. A wildman who had only a short time ago left off grazing on grass.

Gilgamesh thinking on his mother’s advice, took his wooden comb from its place and sat next to Enkidu. After a wordless moment, he set to brushing Enkidu’s long hair. At first Gilgamesh focused on clearing the knots and tangles in the waves.

But into the quiet of the room, he found words tumbling out. “Shamash had barely peeked over the horizon, when he filled my heart with yearning.” Gilgamesh did not say how he had yearned to wake Enkidu. “There is a land of living cedar some leagues from here where a terrible monster is said to live.”

He must have caught a tangle in Enkidu’s hair, because Enkidu winced away from Gilgamesh. Enkidu stood up. He moved away from Gilgamesh, which was the opposite of what was in Gilgamesh’s heart. 

Enkidu said, “Yesterday, in your mother’s temple. There were bitter herbs that were burned with the sweet. Where did they come from?”

Gilgamesh felt a sudden chill in his heart. He knew very well where those herbs had been gathered. He had gathered them himself. Still, he did not let fear stop him. He set the shards of past experience aside. He said, “They come from the deep abzu. I went there once with my companions to win the services of the Apkallu, the seven sages, who could make the walls of Uruk even greater and more glorious than they are.” It seemed foolish now. To have wanted to write his name on the very bricks of the city walls.

Enkidu turned and it seemed to Gilgamesh that he looked into Gilgamesh’s very heart. Enkidu said, “You left with companions and you returned with bitter herbs.” He placed both hands on Gilgamesh’s shoulders. Enkidu’s wide eyes were deep as the abzu and as wise. “That will not happen this time. This time you will go with a companion who will stand by you.” Enkidu’s words may as well have been a hook for a fish given how they made their way into Gilgamesh’s heart.

A barbed hook. Companions had promised to stay at his side before.

He nearly kissed Enkidu right then, but a sliver of past fears jabbed him and he held back, and the moment was gone.

Gilgamesh said, “Let's go to my mother to get her blessing.” She had never given a blessing before. In the past, she’d given only warnings. 

His mother was wearing a grand festival dress and a diadem of jewels. It was not what she’d been wearing when Gilgamesh had left her earlier that morning. She looked up at the sky and said, “Shamash, you are the one who has put this idea into my son’s heart. You had better see to it that both the sons of my heart return to me.”

Gilgamesh’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes filled with tears that his mother had accepted Enkidu so completely. So fully. But as she met his eyes, he recalled that after each dream, he had asked for her interpretation. He had not been the only one waiting for his other half to arrive.

On the altar, a light flared, but Ninsun stood firm. "Shamash, how will you ensure my sons return to me?"

Finally, Shamash spoke from the altar, “I will give Gilgamesh a light in the darkness.” 

His mother then took them to the altar of Inanna, the patron of the city. She said, "Inanna, you are the one who put the desire for glory in my son's heart. How will you help him?"

Inanna flew through the window on eagle's wings followed by the storm clouds. Her armor was bright and bore the scars of many battles. She said, "I will make their names glorious. I will put strength in their hearts." It was the promise she had made before each journey. She left like she had come. 

His mother shook her head at the altar and said, "It is as well as it could be."

His mother took an amulet from her neck and placed it around Enkidu’s neck. “I entrust Gilgamesh to you. Bring him back to me safely.”

Gilgamesh would have protested, but she gave him a look and he did not. 

They set off. Gilgamesh’s heart was eager for adventure, and not. After leaving with so much fanfare in fine chariots, this time he left by foot. 

Gilgamesh wanted to prolong each step on the earth with his dear companion. Hold off the moment of truth when he would see if Enkidu truly would stay at his side. 

+++

Enkidu thought often of the morning they had left Uruk. He thought about how Gilgamesh’s shoulders had felt under his hands. He thought about how Gilgamesh’s breath, warm from being inside Gilgamesh, had caressed his face. He thought about how close they had been and how he could have closed the gap between them with a kiss. 

How as they stood there, a deeper memory, deep as the abzu, had surfaced. Humababa's jeers from a mouth that claimed to love. How caresses had turned to blows. 

Enkidu had pulled away, and the moment was lost. 

Enkidu rolled these thoughts in his head like a river rolls stones. He spent so much time thinking about that morning, he hardly noticed the journey to the valley of the shadow of death until they arrived at the deep abzu. 

Although there was a breeze, the water was perfectly still. Although the sky was bright blue and Shamash blazed in the sky, the surface of the water was dark as night. The black stones that circled the shore were littered with bleached human bones and the recent wreckage of red chariots. 

Enkidu felt rather than saw Gilgamesh stiffen at the signs of his previous visit. He did not need to look before reaching out to place his hand on his friend’s back. He said what was in his heart. “I will not abandon you.” 

Enkidu felt what Gilgamesh did not say with his silence. Enkidu resolved to show Gilgamesh that his words had actions behind them.

He didn’t have long to wait. The Apkallu, seven fish-women born when the world was covered in water, broke the surface of the abzu. Their pale blue-white flesh was covered in silver scales that sparkled in the sunlight. With round mouths full of gagged teeth, they laughed and pointed at Gilgamesh. 

Uanna, who had completed the design of heaven and earth, said, “Foolish mortal, have you returned to chance death again?"

Uannedugga, who was endowed with comprehensive intelligence, said, " Our mistress will not take pity on you this time.”

Enmedugga, who knew the ways of fate, said, "She will surely kill you."

“It will not happen,” said Enkidu firmly. “Gilgamesh and I will defeat your mistress and win your service for Uruk. You will build strong walls to keep the people safe.” 

“We will see,” said the Apkallu. They sang in the language of the galla, demons of the underworld. Enkidu did not know that language, although he had heard it often enough in the forest of Humbaba. The only word he recognized was a name, Dimme-kur, the seizer.

A cloud passed in front of face of Shamash. It had not been there a moment before. Thick black smoke such as that which fills the lungs when a forest burns. Enkidu said, “Gilgamesh, have courage. We will defeat Dimme-kur together.”

There was no time for further conversation. A dark shape descended from the sky. A glimpse of wide wings through eyes burning with smoke. A slashing claw that sparked off Gilgamesh’s shield. A brief flash of Gilgamesh’s sword. Enkidu felt his axe strike something that moved away. He braced himself against Gilgamesh, as Gilgamesh braced himself against Enkidu. 

Gilgamesh called out, "Oh, Shamash, where is the light you promised?" Around them the smoke did not so much clear as was illuminated by a golden glow from the ground beneath their feet. 

Gilgamesh and Enkidu fought on. They could not see far. They could not pursue the seizer, but they could see enough to parry blows before they came. They could see enough to strike true. 

After a long time, the smoke cleared. The cloud left the face of Shamash. Dimme-kur crouched a short distance away on a black rock over the still water. She said in a voice like screaming stars. “Gilgamesh, last time, your companions ran in terror and you alone remained, earning bitter herbs if you could harvest them.” Blue lips curled back around ivory tusks. “You’ve returned in better company.” 

Gilgamesh placed his arm around Enkidu’s shoulders, warm and comforting. “This companion will never leave my side.” 

“Never,” said Dimme-kur. She looked at the Apkallu with a tilt of her head. “Sages, what do you have to say to that?”

The Apkallu laughed. 

Uannedugga  said, “Mistress, all mortals die.

Enmedugga said, " All mortals leave each other.”

Enmegalamma, who was born in the house of dust, said, "Only to rejoin in the dreary great land."

Uanna said, “Even gods die. Was this not a god once?” She flicked her long silver tail. The water drops seemed to absorb the light as they flew through the air before rejoining the lake.

It did not seem an ill thing to Enkidu, to become a lake. 

Gilgamesh drew himself up. “Enough of this. We survived your attack. No one showed fear. We have earned the help of the seven sages, whose walls can outlast time itself.”

“Nothing can do that,” said Dimme-kur. 

“Nothing,” said  Uanna , “but Mistress,” she laughed, “We are willing to make walls that will stand in glory for a time."

"They will echo in history," said Enmedugga, swimming closer to the shore. " It would make a good fate.” 

“Agreed,” said Dimme-kur. “They have earned your help.” She leapt down into the shallow water. With quick movements of her claws, she shaped seven figures from dark clay. Each of the fish-women took up a figure. Set aside scales for smooth clay and walked on the shore. When they were done, Dimme-kur dove into the abzu and was gone.

Enkidu glared at the waters. She did not return. The Apkallu chattered to each other in the galla language. But said nothing more in the language of humankind. From experience, Enkidu knew there was no point in attempting to learn more from them.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu left the valley with the Apkallu.

As soon as they arrived in Uruk, the Apkallu set to work on the walls, which grew taller and wider and stronger to the wonderment of everyone in Uruk who came to watch them. With a sharp smile and a quip in a demon tongue that had the Apkaullu laughing,  Enmedugga wrote the names of Gilgamesh and Enkidu into the bricks. 

Enkidu did not care about chicken scratches written in clay. 

He cared for the look in Gilgamesh’s eyes. The shining smile on his face more beloved than any other. 

"Our names are together forever now," said Gilgamesh. On his answering smile, Gilgamesh tenderly kissed him, and said, “I know that you're an innocent of the wild, whose only experience of love is with a priestess. I can go slowly, but I cannot keep quiet about how I feel. You are the other half to myself.”

Enkidu felt a stone form in his throat around the words he couldn’t say. He swallowed it and looked away. He did not want to say the truth. He was a wild man. That was not the same thing as an innocent.

“I’m sorry. Mother warned me. I’ve rushed things. But there’s plenty of time,” said Gilgamesh with a sweet smile like honey. 

Enkidu felt as if Dimme-kur’s shadow hung over him. In the distance, he could hear the Apkallu laughing in the galla language. He had heard the language of demons many times in the forest of Humbaba, but he did not speak it. 

+++

Gilgamesh was not a man built for patience. 

His mother said, “Does the sun force the wheat to grow all in one day?”

Gilgamesh wanted to shout that he had desired Enkidu be closer than air from the moment he’d seen him. From before he’d met him. When Enkidu had been nothing but a star. That each day as they went hunting the lions and panthers that preyed on the herds, he ached for more.

Even worse, when they walked along the river. It was all that he could do not to take Enkidu’s hand in his own. To draw Enkidu’s head to his shoulder. Instead, he waited.

He was not built for waiting.

He returned to his rooms where Enkidu’s eyes were still soft from sleep, and as was their custom, and Gilgamesh’s delight, he set to brushing Enkidu’s long hair until it was smooth. Rubbing oil into the soft hair that covered Enkidu’s shoulders and back. He longed to explore how completely Enkidu was covered with hair, but instead he shared what Shamash had placed in his heart. He said, “There is a land of living cedar some leagues from here where a terrible monster is said to live.”

Enkidu winced. Gilgamesh must have touched a sore place too roughly. Enkidu moved away from Gilgamesh, which was the opposite of what Gilgamesh wanted. Enkidu said, “There are sparkling blue stones around the door of the white temple. Where did they come from?”

Gilgamesh felt a sudden chill in his heart, because he knew very well where those stones had been gathered. He had gathered them himself. Still, he did not let fear stop him. He set aside the shards of past failure. He said, “They come from Mount Eihb. I went there once with my companions in search of the dragon, Kur. None may pass within reach on the shadow of the mountain where he lives. Glory would come to those who defeated the beast who sends evil even in the direction of the gods. But we failed. We scattered like a flock of birds.” 

Enkidu turned and it seemed to Gilgamesh that he looked into Gilgamesh’s very heart. Enkidu said, “You left with companions and you returned with brittle sharp stones.” He placed both hands on Gilgamesh’s shoulders. Enkidu’s wide eyes were deep as the shadows of Mount Eibh and wise. “That will not happen this time. This time you will go with a companion who will stand by you.” Enkidu’s words may as well have been a barbed arrow for a bird given how they made their way into Gilgamesh’s heart.

He nearly kissed Enkidu right then, but Enkidu pulled away and the moment was gone.

They went to his mother. She was wearing a grand festival dress and diadem of jewels. It was not what she’d been wearing when Gilgamesh had left her earlier that morning. She looked up at the sky and said, “Shamash, you are the one who has put this thought in my son’s heart. You had better see to it that both the sons of my heart return to me.”

A light flashed on the altar and the voice of Shamash said, “I will grant you aid when it is needed.”

His mother could not get more details from Shamash than that.

She led them to Inanna's altar. "Inanna, you are the one who put the lust for great deeds in my sons' hearts. What will you do to ensure they return to your city?"

Inanna came through the window on wide eagles wings. Storms swirled around her like perfume. Her face blazed with light. She rapped her fist on her armored chest and said, "I will give them strength and the drive to go on." She laughed. "I will destroy the mountain when it is time." She left as quickly as she had arrived.

His mother shook her head at the altar and said, "It is as well as it could be." She took an amulet from her neck and placed it around Enkidu’s neck. “I entrust my son to you; as I have since you came to this city, as you guard his heart, bring him back to me safely.”

They set off. 

Gilgamesh was eager for adventure, and not. 

Once again by foot. No chariots to race them over the ground. Gilgamesh wanted to revel in each step on the earth with his dear companion.

+++

Enkidu thought often of the morning they had left Uruk. He thought about how Gilgamesh’s shoulders had felt under his hands. He thought about how Gilgamesh’s breath, warm from being inside Gilgamesh, had caressed his face. He thought about how close they had been and how he could have closed the gap between them with a kiss. 

How as they stood there, a deeper memory, deep as the abzu, had surfaced of Humababa laughing at him. How words of love accompanied derision. How splendors were applied as often as caresses. 

Like a skittish bull, Enkidu had pulled away, and the moment was lost. 

Enkidu rolled these thoughts in his head like a river rolls stones. He spent so much time thinking about that morning, he hardly noticed the journey until they arrived at the foot of Mount Eihb. The mountain towered over all other mountains around it. While all the other mountains were scattered with slender willows and short pines, Mount Eihb was bare of trees. Instead, the sharp stones that covered the mountain side seemed to absorb the light of Shamash, as if jealous of light. Heat blazed from the rocks. The mountain's sides exhaled steam. 

They made their way to where a jagged hole gaped in the rocks. Steam curled pale and thick from the mouth of the cave. Scorched bones lay scattered on the ground. The wreckage of chariots decorated with the symbol of the bull of Uruk and the wandering star of Inanna. 

Gilgamesh’s face blanched grey as if he was a tree struck by firey splendors. Enkidu acted before he thought. He put his hand on Gilgamesh’s shoulder. He pulled Gilgamesh’s forehead down to rest against his own. He said, “I will not run. I will stay with you. How could I leave? I am your other half.”

“Yes, I think… yes.” Gilgamesh leaned that little bit farther forward and pressed his lips to Enkidu’s. Who opened his lips like a flower to the sun. Drank kisses until Gilgamesh pulled away with a laugh. “Here and now is not the place for this. I want only the best for one as new to love as you are. I who love you want the best for you.” 

Enkidu felt a chill at that. Opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a falling stone. It shattered remnants of a chariot next to them. “This is how Kur beings,” said Gilgmamesh. They made their way through a rain of rocks. They dodged through the falling stones as if they were birds flying through a storm. 

Finally, they came to the cave where the dragon Kur coiled. He was covered in gold and blue scales, the very stones that Gilgamesh had brought back to Uruk. That covered the sides of Mount Eihb.

Kur spat fire that spilled around Gilgamesh’s shield. When Kur inhaled again Enkidu saw his chance. He darted forward. He had been burned by fiercer fire. He swung his axe and struck Kur, which only chipped the bronze blade. Kur turned to snap his teeth at Enkidu. 

Gilgamesh attacked Kur from the other side. Distracting the dragon again.

Between them, Enkidu and Gilgamesh harried the creature. When Kur snapped his teeth at Enkidu, Gilgamesh struck with his sword. A glancing blow, chipping the blade. Kur turned to face Gilgamesh, and Enkidu attacked with his battered axe.

Between them, they kept the dragon occupied, but made little headway. Their own weapons grew more and more battered and broken. Until they were reduced to short swords, and then knives, and then stones. Kur wasn’t the only one who could fling rocks. For all the good they did.

Finally, the dragon drew back, as if he were a lion lounging with his pride. 

Kur towered over them blocking the sun. “Fools. You think to take what I have left. This mountain. I who ruled the house of dust, the great land. Who stole the terrible Ereshkigal from her father as my bride and dragged her into my abyss. I who drank dread Ereshkigal’s tears as…” 

Enkidu ripped off his linen kilt. All he had left as a weapon. He jumped on Kur’s back. Wrapping the cloth around Kur’s long neck between high stone neck ridges. He pulled the linen tight. Not a single thread, but many, cutting off the beast’s words. If he did nothing else, Enkidu would stop Kur from talking in this way. 

As Kur thrashed his head back and forth, Enkidu gripped tight with his legs and hands. He didn’t let go of the linen. He was certain this was how he was going to die. He felt as if he were in the smoke of Dimme-Kur. He was certain that he had failed Gilgamesh.

“Hold on,” shouted Gilgamesh, who lunged forward. He picked up a long reed once woven into a chariot and flung it like a spear. It pierced Kur’s open mouth. Kur roared in pain. Gilgamesh flung more reeds into Kur's open mouth, until Kur fell to the earth. Dead. 

They had just enough time to grin at one another, happy to be alive, when the cave began to seep a dark viscous substance too thick to be water, but flowing nevertheless. The water flowed over the dragon, swallowing him like a fly in amber. It did not stop there. The thick water poured down the mountain’s sides. Where the liquid flowed in the valley below, the green grass turned brown and then black. The sludge flowed towards the great Tigris and the mighty Euphrates. The lifeblood of the valley. 

Gilgamesh looked up at Shamash in the sky. “Oh, Shamash. You are the one who put this journey in my heart. What will I do if you do not help me? If you do not help your people.” 

Beams of sunlight pierced down from the sky and glittered on the mountain side. The voice of Shamash said, “Those who are not rebels against the gods, give Gilgamesh aid.” 

The rocks on the mountain side shifted and rolled, moving over the body of Kur. Moving over the mouth of the cave entrance, blocking the dark waters, which in turn subsided. 

Gilgamesh and Enkidu slumped against each other in relief and joy at being alive. Enkidu looked up at Gilgamesh, his beautiful face outlined in sunlight. He could not have said if he reached up or Gilgamesh reached down. Only that their lips met. That their bodies met. 

In that moment, Enkidu looked down and remembered that he was naked. That the nature of his feelings for Gilgamesh were clear in the jutting line of his phallus. Gilgamesh kissed him. Took his own kilt and wrapped Enkidu tenderly in it as if he were a fawn. Gilgamesh said simply, "I love you."

Enkidu responded with a kiss. He could not trust words.

All the long way back to Uruk, Gilgamesh and Enkidu paused to exchange tender kisses. Soft touches. Through it all though, Enkidu could not bring himself to tell Gilgamesh that he was not as innocent as Gilgamesh supposed. Words like stones lay in his throat. He swallowed each one.

This did not stop Enkidu returning kiss for kiss. Touch for touch for touch. But when he should have said words, instead he did his best to inhale Gilgamesh’s very air. 

In a pleasure daze, they came to the city of Uruk. Where Gilgamesh ordered a feast and put on festival clothes. Ordered that every weaver in the city was to attend in celebration of how their craft had defeated a dragon. 

Enkidu could not have said what he ate. Only that he lay on the same couch as Gilgamesh. That he felt Gilgamesh’s fingers as he placed morsels of food between Enkidu’s lips. As Gilgamesh gave Enkidu cups of wine that he then drank back from Enkidu’s mouth, until Ninsun said, “There is slow and there is time to harvest, my son.”

They made their slow-fast way from the feasting hall to Gilgamesh’s room. Their room. There was the bed. Wide and comfortable. Enkidu stopped, the echo of jeers tumbling as rough stones in his thoughts.

“Have you changed your mind?” asked Gilgamesh.

Enkidu shook his head and forced out, “No.” Then needing further answer, he unbuckled his belt and let his kilt fall to the ground. Gilgamesh’s kilt. 

Gilgamesh laughed, and Enkidu’s heart sank, until Gilgamesh said, “You are more beautiful than I imagined.” He ran his hands down Enkidu’s back and cupped the curves of his bottom. “Soft and hard all over. Except,” his fingers slid forward to brush the line of Enkidu’s phallus, “where you are perfectly hard.”

Gilgamesh let go only to undo his own belt. To remove the rich festival clothes. Then bare skin pressed to bare skin. Flesh against flesh. Their sighs mingled as hands explored. As they tumbled onto Giglamesh’s wide bed. Rolling one on top of the other, until Enkidu came to be pinned as he longed to be. The face that smiled above him was the one he longed to see. 

Gilgamesh said, “I have some skill in playing the flute in erratic Inanna’s two-fold dance. Would you like to see?”

Enkidu nodded. Drunk on kisses. Gilgamesh teased his way down Enkidu’s body. Then with tongue and lips, he applied himself to the pillar of Enkidu’s desire. Enkidu felt as if he were the cedar under a sweet rain. He felt as if he was a lamb and a bull, and as if he was flying apart. 

Gilgamesh held him tenderly. Firmly. 

They were not done. Enkidu was not done. He lifted his legs eagerly wanting more, but rather than a rushing thrust, Enkidu found himself first stretched by clever fingers that tested his endurance. That pressed against a pearl of pleasure inside him that had him laughing and crying. That had him shouting wordless cries. 

The air smelled of olive oil and sweat and desire. 

Enkidu bent like a bow for the other half of himself. Thrusting and moving in time to Giglamesh’s motion. Until they spent themselves in and on each other.

After, Gilgamesh kissed him tenderly. “I tried to go slowly. Did I rush you too fast? I know you don’t have much experience with this kind of love.”

Enkidu felt suddenly cold as if a winter wind had blown over a green meadow. He rolled over, fitting his back against Gilgamesh’s front. “No.” He pulled Gilgamesh’s arm around him. Other words struggled in his mouth. Stones, he swallowed them and told himself they were of no importance.

+++

Gilgamesh went to his mother. 

“Enkidu isn’t happy. Every other breathe is a sigh. When we walk on the banks of the Euphrates, I can feel his sorrowful breath on my shoulder. When we hunt the lions and leopards that come down into the valley near the city pastureland, he isn’t happy. He stops and stares. I have told him that I love him many times, but he has never said it in return. What have I done wrong? How do I fix this?”

His mother kissed his cheek. “My son, you are a great hero. The gods took great care in creating you. But you are not the reason Shamash rises in the morning and you are not the reason Shamash sets at the end of the day. Do not rush to the belief that Enkidu sighs because of you. Instead ask him.”

But Gilgamesh was afraid of what he might hear. He had not discarded the jar of his past failures. He had merely placed them in the storehouse of his heart.

So instead he went to the market and purchased sweet bread and sweet wine. He took these things to the altar of Inanna. In the past, he'd only approached her looking for her blessing in battle. Fitfully given.

Now he came to her as a lover seeking her help winning Enkidu's heart. Inanna appeared readily enough. She dove through the window with a snap of her wings. When Gilgamesh had appealed to her for battle, she'd appeared in armor. Storm clouds had swirled around her head. Now stars drifted around her like motes of dust. She smelled strongly of sex and her dress was pinned together haphazardly with mismatching pins. Inanna said, "Have you come to consummate our marriage, Gilgamesh?" 

Gilgamesh blanched. Each king of Uruk was ceremonially wed with Inanna when they became king. Necessarily after the death of the previous king. In his case, the death of his father. He’d washed the ashes from his hair and drank wine from a clay cup. Inanna had not been there. A priestess had stood in her place.

Inanna winked at him. "You've made your name famous." She picked up the urn of wine easily and drank it down in one gulp. She let the urn fall and it shattered into motes of light. "Become beautiful in my eyes. Come, be my bridegroom. Gold. Glory. Mighty demons of the storm for your draft mules." She smoothed her hands on her well rounded hips. "Rivaless oxen." She placed her hands under her full breasts and lifted. "Twin dropping ewes." 

Gilgamesh scrambled back. He said, "What could I possibly give you as a husband?"

Inanna smiled. "Let me be your bride." It wasn't phrased as a request.

A litany of her former lovers and their fates spilled out of him. Inanna smiled brittle cold and was gone.

Gilgamesh considered the situation, and went back to his bed. Held his love in his arms. Counted the number of times his love sighed. 

Seven.

Gilgamesh girded himself and looking out the window to where Shamash shone in the sky, he took his mother's advice, “My love, why are you sighing so bitterly?”

Enkidu looked at the frieze of the cedar forest. He said, “I am weak. My arms have lost their strength. Sorrow is…” he touched his throat and swallowed, “stuck,” he patted the base of his throat. A drum beat Gilgamesh needed to solve.

“Why is,” Gilgamesh forced out his own words, “that so? Have I done something? Moved too quickly? Am I not…” Gilgamesh did not know how to press all his concerns into a single word. They were a brick that would not bake.

Into that void, Enkidu looked up at him. Teary eyes into teary eyes. “It’s just idleness. Nothing more.” 

Gilgamesh felt the knot in his heart ease. That he could understand. Fierce hearts need aventure. He looked at the image of the cedar forest. He said, “I have heard there is a land of living cedar some leagues from here where a fearsome creature, Humbaba, rules. No traveler can pass through that forest because of this creature. We will go to the forest and destroy the evil that lives there.”

Enkidu shook his head, sending the long waves of his hair tumbling. He took Gilgamesh’s hands. “Gilgamesh, Humbaba is like no monster you have ever seen.” He licked dry lips and said, “When I was with the wild beasts, I went to that forest.” He glanced at the image of cedar trees. “It is nothing like that.”

Enkidu slipped out of their bed and walked to the window. He faced Shamash rising in the sky. “Enlil himself has appointed Humbaba to…” he waved at the city below, “guard the forest. That god has armed Humbaba with seven fold terrors. He’s,” Enkidu’s looked back at Gilgamesh, his face difficult to make out framed as he was by the sun. “terrible to all flesh. His roar is like a storm. His breath is like fire. His mouth is death itself.” 

Gilgamesh sat up in their bed. This was the first that he had heard of Enkidu’s life before he came to Uruk. He had imagined long peaceful days in the wide grasslands, not whatever burr was sticking in Enkidu’s flesh. Not whatever stone Enkidu had stepped on in his journey.

Enkidu said, “He can hear a heifer sixty leagues away.” Enkidu came back to the bed and rested his hands on the surface, learning forward. “What man would willingly walk into that place? I’m telling you that weakness overcomes anyone who goes there. It is not an equal struggle.” Enkidu smiled sadly. “He is a battering ram. A watchman who never sleeps.”

Gilgamesh looked at his dearest friend, his heart, and knew that whatever happened, the land of living cedar was precisely where they needed to go. He tugged Enkidu gently back into their bed. He wrapped him in a soft blanket woven of the softest lambs’ wool. He smoothed his hands down Enkidu’s arms. He said, “None of us are meant to live forever, but,” he placed his hand over Enkidu’s heart, “the memory of this life is with us in this life and the next. I will go first. I will let you know there’s nothing fear as you have done for me.”

Enkidu laughed sadly and wrapped his own hands over Gilgamesh’s. “Ask for Shamash’s blessing. Ask for your mother’s.” 

Shamash blessed every journey. Inanna might not be wise to ask for a blessing just then. His mother was more judicious. Gilgamesh smiled and nodded, but worried at the sorrow in his love’s eyes.

+++

Like an axe falling from the heavens, there was nothing Enkidu could do to stop this journey. He opened his mouth to speak the truth, but he had swallowed too many stones. He could only watch as if it were another person when Gilgamesh went down to the marketplace and had special weapons made for both of them to replace those lost fightinging Kur. 

Gilgamesh kissed his cheek while a smith sweated at a blazing forge to make a mighty axe. Gilgamesh’s whispered in his ear, “I will call it the might of heroes, but…” he squeezed Enkidu’s hand, “it will never take your place at my side.”

Gilgamesh give Enkidu a new bow and newly fletched arrows. 

Enkidu looked at the sharp points. Humbaba was beloved of Enlil. A curse must fall on any who killed Humbaba. In that moment, watching the firelight reflect on Gilgamesh’s beloved face, Enkidu resolved that curse would fall on him. It was only his due.

The weavers wove new cloth for them from the finest wool. Dyed in brilliant colors from the earth. 

The councillors of Uruk came one by one to warn Gilgamesh of the might of Humbaba. How his roar was a storm. His breath was a fire. His jaws were death. Enkidu felt each word as if it were being inked into his own skin. But each time, Gilgamesh turned to Enkidu and smiled. Placed his hand on Enkidu’s shoulder. “There is nothing to fear. We will defeat him.”

As if Humbaba were Dimme-kur. As if Humbaba were Kur.

They went to Ninsun. Enkidu half hoped that she’d try to convince them not to go. Instead, she put on a beautiful dress. She put on a jeweled necklace and a crown. She swept in front of them to Shamash’s altar. “Shamash, you are the one who has put this thought in my son’s heart. You are the one that hates this evil creature in the forest, and you had better see to it that both the sons of my heart return to me.”

Enkidu’s heart skipped a beat. He felt is belly churn with fire. He had never known a mother. This too in turn would be lost. But he could not speak the words. He didn’t have them.

On the altar, a light flared, but Ninsun stood firm. Finally, Shamash said, “I will give you seven winds.” Shamash looked at Enkidu. “They are like a serpent that freezes the heart and will help you.” 

Ninsun took the jewels from her neck and placed them around Enkidu’s neck. “I entrust my son to you; as I have since you came to this city, as you guard his heart, bring him back to me safely.”

Tears welled in Enkidu’s eyes and he could do nothing but agree.

There was little else to do then, but to put on their armor and set off. Gilgamesh laughing and affectionate. Enkidu, who knew what lay ahead, terrified.

+++

The journey passed quickly. Gilgamesh worried like a child with a loose tooth at the tone of voice Enkidu had taken when describing Humbaba. Enkidu sounded like a child describing a nightmare.

As it was, Enkidu spoke very softly when they came to the gates of the cedar forest, two mighty mountains and between them a narrow mountain pass. Enkidu said, “When I came this way before, I lost all my strength. My arms withered. My heart withered.” 

Gilgamesh wrapped his arm around his beloved. He said, “Your heart is not withered. A reed isn’t withered that only requires rain. We’ve been through so many battles. So much adventure. Wait a moment, and this will pass. I am here.”

Finally, Enkidu nodded and then went into the forest.

It was like nothing Gilgamesh had ever seen before. He had thought he’d seen forests before, but they were nothing to this. The trees towered higher than the white temple. Their trunks were thicker than the walls of Uruk. Green branches extended in delicate crowns high above, dappling the light of Shamash into green.

For all the trees, there was little underbrush. The path was clear. They made camp. Gilgamesh was sure to hold Enkidu close. Gilgamesh dreamed worrisome dreams, but as was the way with them, when he told them to Enkidu, it was Enkidu who comforted him.

So they made their way through the woods. Enkidu walking closer and closer to Gilgamesh’s side, until their hands were woven together with their strides. 

Finally Endidu whispered, “We’re almost there.” 

Gilgamesh looked around. The forest appeared to be the same as the last several leagues. “How do you know? Doesn’t Humbaba move about the forest?”

“Listen,” said Enkidu. 

At first it sounded like nothing. The roar of forest sounds that greeted them from the moment they’d entered the dense dark woods. But soon his ears discerned that there was a melody that the cicadas were playing. That the birds were singing in refrain. A wood pigeon moaned and a turtle dove cooed in answer. Within the monkey shrieks there was a powerful rhythm. 

“They play for the amusement of the ruler of the forest, Humbaba,” said Enkidu.

“Isn’t he a savage? A giant monster?” 

Enkidu slanted him a narrow glance. “He’s the ruler of the forest. A great and terrible king.” Enkidu pushed ahead. “Perhaps you consider a wildman a savage too.” Which was not at all what Gilgamesh had meant, but there was no time to protest. Enkidu shouted, “Humbaba!”

The music, if anything grew louder. The trees shifted and moved. First Gilgamesh saw a giant paw like that of a lion push aside the brush. A giant clawed foot like that of a vulture. He struggled to take in the vast body covered in thorny scales. All topped by the head of a man some twenty cubits high. Around him swirled seven blazing splendor that scorched whatever they went near. “Enkidu!” boomed the creature, causing the trees to tremble, “My own. You have returned to me.” 

“Not yours. Never yours. And never a return to you,” said Enkidu in the quiet tone of a lone soldier at the city gate while an enemy army rides forward. 

In that moment, Giglamesh was certain of what he'd come to suspect. He did the only thing he could think. He laid his hand on Enkidu’s shoulder. He leaned forward and said, “I am with you.”

Humbaba roared, “You brought this intruder into our home. I who lifted you up from nothing. I who taught you everything. How to breath. Walk. Think. When I made a place for you once in my very bed.” Gilgamesh felt Enkidu’s shudder. 

Enkidu whispered, “Gilgamesh, remember your boasts in Uruk.” A fragile butterfly of sound under all the roar of the forest. 

Gilgamesh was not ashamed that tears were rolling down his cheeks. He said to what sunlight that could be seen in the dense trees, “Shamash, you set me on this journey. Help me now.” He gripped his axe. From the heavens, seven winds roared down. The whirlwind gripped Humbaba’s arms. The icy wind froze his feet. 

Immediately, the monster bowed his head and wept from wide watery eyes the color of the empty sky. “Oh, my lord you’ve overcome me entirely. Let me go, and I’ll be your servant. Why,” tears dripped from his cheeks, “I’m a fatherless creature. Motherless too. I was raised by Mount Eibh. Given this forest, but for you I’ll cut down every tree. I’ll build you a palace, great Gilgamesh.”

Gilgamesh felt his heart twist in uncertainty. Monsters in his experience didn’t weep. “This doesn’t seem like a monster.” He tried to sort sense from what he was seeing. “He’s more like a snared bird. Shouldn’t we free him?”

He glanced at Enkidu, but his friend’s expression was wild. “If you free this snared bird, you’ll never return to your mother.” Enkidu’s lips twisted. “I know his ways of old.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” said Humbaba, his talons straining against the wind. “He’s bitter over how things ended between us. He was always a madman. Irrational. A liar even. He’s trying to turn you against someone who could be a great ally.” With a dragon toothed smile, the splendors of Humbaba blazed. Scorching the air in front of him. “See, I’m helping you.” 

The winds roared, but that only fed the flames from Humbaba’s whirling splendors. They were not caught by any wind. 

The north wind was the first to leave.

They were surrounded by fuel for a fire. 

Gilgamesh felled a tree in Humbaba’s path. He strained his muscles and threw the fuel far from Humbaba’s flames. Enkidu saw what he was doing and set to work too. A second tree. Humbaba blazed, the icy wind melted away. A third tree. Each time, Humbaba blazed. Burning away one of the winds that held him. All the while promising to be Gilgamesh’s faithful servant in an oil slick voice. By the seventh tree, the final wind was gone. Humbaba was free. 

“Your servant always,” said Humbaba with a dragon toothed smile. With all splendors blazing, he rushed forward, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu had been through many adventures together. They moved as one. 

This was not like the battle with Dimme-Kur. Gilgamesh could see the massive paw swinging towards him. He ducked out of the way just in time and sliced with his sword. Enkidu harried Humbaba's right clawed leg until he turned. 

This was not like the battle with Kur. Humbaba bled when a solid blow was struck. But fighting him was like a stone cutter fighting a mountain. They could not win with speed. They must win with endurance.

Finally, Gilgamesh was able to strike a true blow over Humbaba's heart. 

As if in answer, Enkidu rained down the second and third blows that felled Humbaba. The trees around them swayed with the force of Humbaba's fall. 

Enkidu snatched up Gilgamesh’s axe and cut Humbaba’s head from his body. The seven splendors flickered and went out.

“He’s dead,” said Giglamesh laying his hands on Enkidu’s wrist. Feeling the shudder in his best and truest companion’s body, he repeated it. “He’s dead.” The soft earth accepted the blow of the axe as it fell from Enkidu’s hand. Embraced and held the blade, even as Gilgamesh wrapped his arms around Enkidu. Held him as he wept in his arms. Stroked his hands over Enkidu’s hair. Over his back. Over his arms. Kissed the fold of the hair by his brow. Held him until he was quiet. 

Until the only sound was the cacophony of the great forest. 

Enkidu whispered into his chest. “Does it bother you that I am not an innocent?”

Gilgamesh could only reply, “Does it bother you that I presumed to know your truth all this time and was wrong?”

Enkidu pulled away. “Of course, not?”

Gilgamesh tenderly pushed back Enkidu’s long flowing hair behind an ear. “Then you have your answer.” Seeing Enkidu needed to hear it, he said, “No.” Knowing he needed to say it, he said, "I love you as my own heart." He did not press Enkidu to answer in the same way.

They took the trees that they had felled and lashed them together in a raft. Enkidu insisted they must take the head of Humbaba as proof of what he had done. 

Gilgamesh needed no proof, but Enkidu was so insistent that he agreed. They let the river currents be their oxen to carry them back to Uruk. Gilgamesh held Enkidu close all the long journey and repeated words of affection and love. For all of that, Enkidu hardly seemed to hear him.

+++

When the raft touched the river, Enkidu expected the water to rise up in a curse against him. The curse of Enlil for killing Humbaba. When they left the thick forest, he expected the very trees to pluck him from Gilgamesh’s arms. When they came to Uruk itself, Enkidu expected the air and earth to strike him down.

What he did not expect was for Ninsun to greet them by the river’s edge. He did not expect her to look at him sadly. He asked her, “Is it written?”

She pressed a gentle hand on his chest. It was only then that he realized that the three fold amulets that she had given him had burned away. Where they had been, the hair on his chest was now a brilliant silver. She looked to where Gilgamesh was speaking to the city councilors about their journey with wide gestures and wide smiles. The people of Uruk marveled over the cedar trees, as if they came at no cost.

“Don’t tell him,” said Enkidu, quickly. “I don’t want him to know.”

“This is a secret that will not keep.” Ninsun looked to the heavens and away. Then she clapped her hands and spoke in a louder voice. “Shamat, you played a part in what has happened. How shall we celebrate?” 

It was then that Enkidu noticed the priestess, who had made him into a human through a desire to forget. His heart twisted at the thought of all that had occurred to bring him to this point.

Shamat raised the wide clay cup in her hands. “Great Ninsun, Uruk, queen of cities, should celebrate as she always does. With wine and perfume. With dancing in the streets.”

“So, be it,” said Ninsun. “Take my sons to be bathed, and dressed in their finest so that the city may celebrate them.” 

Gilgamesh laughed. “We do carry more than a little dust of the road.” 

Enkidu went meekly to be cleaned. When Gilgamesh spotted the new silver hairs on his chest, and insisted on kissing each one, and knowing what lay ahead, Enkidu felt something crack open. He could not go to his fate without saying at least one thing. He said, “I love you with all my heart.” 

Gilgamesh's delighted smile was a reward greater than any raft of cedars.

They went to the celebration that spilled through Uruk’s streets, all the while Enkidu waited for the axe to fall. It was as the city was at its greatest celebration that Inanna, goddess of love and war, on wide wings came to perch on the city walls. 

Ninsun said to her, “Inanna, have you come to celebrate with your city?” She crossed her arms. “To celebrate the great timbers that even now the seven sages fashion into support for the walls. Into greater heights for our temple.”

“Timbers that were once my throne in the living forest of cedar. Now all that remains is a tree in a pot." Inanna's voice took on a simpering tone. "Oh, Gilgamesh, can’t you drive out the Anzu-birds who infest it. Drive off the serpent. Chase off Lilith. As if I could not do all three myself.” She clapped her eagle’s wings. “No, that is not the reason for my visit,” said Inanna with a hard and brilliant smile. 

“Oh, great Inanna,” said Shamat. “Have you come to bless our king, who is beloved of your twin, Shamash?” 

“Bless?” Inanna laughed wild as a roving star. “Sky-Father Anu has decreed what must be done. While Enlil and Shamash are arguing, I have set loose my sister’s second husband, Gugalanna, the Great Bull of Heaven.” 

Outside the city walls there was a mighty bellow, and the very earth they were standing on shook. Cracks opened in the great walls of Uruk, while the Apkallu chattered in the galla language. 

The beautiful people of Uruk in their holiday clothing clung to shelter, but there was none. Instead they fell into the cracks.

Gilgamesh rushed to the gate. Enkidu followed thinking that at least he would be able to die fighting at Gilgamesh's side. 

Gugalanna was not much larger than a regular bull, but he was powerfully built. When he stamped his hooves, the ground shook and cracks formed in the earth. Enkidu heard people scream as they fell.

Enkidu grabbed the bull by the curve of his horns. Burning foam flecked in his face. He struggled to hold Gugalanna in place, as he lifted the bull off his front feet. Gilgamesh lifted by Gugalanna’s back legs. If Gugalanna could not strike the earth, no more cracks would form.

So many times, the tip of a horn grazed Enkidu’s chest, and so many times his heart was not pierced. Finally, Gilgamesh flung Gugalanna’s hind legs up and pierced the bull with his sword. They slumped together next to the body of the bull. 

“We won,” said Gilgamesh. His smile was wide. “Of course, how could we not while we are together?”

Enkidu doubled over. The places where the horns had pierced his skin burning with sickness. “I will not die in battle.” 

A stream of curses, he hardly knew what he said, fell from his mouth. He cursed the wood of the gate, the shepherds, Shamat. He cursed, until the calm of Shamash came over him. 

Until a beam of sunlight whispered, “Gilgamesh will grieve for you like no one has ever grieved before. Is this how you want to end your moments upon this earth?”

Then the tide of curses stopped. Enkidu let Gilgamesh take him to their bed and care for him. Weakened until there was nothing left of life. 

Even after death, he lingered for some seven days while Gilgamesh wept over his body. Wept that the very river where they walked would weep for him. That the grass of the fields where they had hunted lions and leopards would turn black with mourning. 

Enkidu grieved with his beloved. Realizing that his presence could only be a harm for Gilgamsh, he turned away. 

He came face to face with a birdman with a round mouth full of sharp teeth, lions' feet, and eagles' talons. The birdman seized him, and when he was done, Enkidu’s arms were wings. Enkidu followed the birdman dully into the house of dust. 

Ereshkigal, queen of the dead land, sat on her throne naked except for her crown. Her wide black wings were folded over her back and her feet were eagle’s talons. She rested those feet on lionesses and on either side of her throne, perched a wide eyed owl. 

Befit-Sheri squatted in front of her with a tablet in her hand. She recited the deeds of Enkidu’s life. With each word, he felt them weighing him down like stones in a river sack. When Befit-Sheri was done, Ereshkigal said, “Who has brought this one here?”

“He killed your husband, Gugalanna,” said the bird-man. “He killed your husband, Kur.”

“One was my father's choice. One was his own. Neither my desiring,” said Ereshkigal. She bent down to look at him. She said to Befit-Sheri, “Read again what he did when Kur taunted him about how he stole me from my family and dragged me into the abyss.”

Befit-Sheri read from her tablet, “Rage like a forest fire rose in his heart, and he ripped away his own clothing to use it silence Kur's words.”

Ereshkigal smiled a terrible smile with thin black lips full of white teeth. She said, “Read again of his time in the forest of Humbaba.”

Befit-Sheri read again of every terrible moment. The words struck him like blows. Stone failures that had him sitting awkwardly in the dust.

Ereshkigal smiled a terrible smile with white teeth that blazed like Shamash in summer, but then she was his eldest sister. She lifted him up easily and arranged him to sit at her feet with the lionesses, who purred and licked his face. She said to a dead man, who he recognized from a clay frieze as having been a great king in Uruk long ago, “You, bring us bread and wine.” 

The wine had no flavor. The bread had no taste, but he ate them under Ereshkigal’s terrible gaze. She slid sharp fingers through his hair. She said, “You judge as the living judge. I not the queen of the living. Listen to Befit-Sheri.”

He could not have said how long he sat there. How many times a former king or shepherd, priestess or ale-wife came before the throne. Each time, Befit-Sheri read from the tablet. Sometimes the dead were given a coat of feathers. Other times they were hung from hooks on the wall. 

He could not have said how many times Ereshkigal told him to listen. How long the lionesses rumbled and licked at his face. Purred and rubbed massive bodies against his sides. 

He whispered to them, dull and dusty, “I killed you in life.”

“You aren’t listening,” said Ereshkigal. She tapped a clawed finger over where his heart had once beat. "But I can be patient. I am the earth that shelters the seed in the dark. I am the earth that accepts the ash of the fallen tree."

Enkidu looked into the warm golden eyes of a lioness. They were without anger or fear or judgement. He wrapped his arms around the lionesses' muscular body and wept for his own death and life and loss. When every tear had fallen and he was dry as a desert river, Ereshkigal said, “Listen.”

It was then that Inanna came into the hall. She said, “I am here for Gugulanna’s funeral.” She was wearing a crown of stars that guided travelers far from home. She was wearing a necklace of stars that guided the farmer when planting their crops. She was wearing a beautiful dress that made the flowers bloom. She was wearing a belt that filled all animals with lust and love. 

Befit-Sheri read from a tablet about the day Ereshkigal went picking bitter herbs in the abzu with her sister and brother, but Inanna and Shamash stole away to eat the fruit of the tree of sexual knowledge. Shamash ate once. Inanna ate all the rest. The day Ereshkigal was stolen from the abzu by the dragon, Kur.

The judges of the house of dust rushed forward. They took the crown and the necklace and the dress and belt. When Inanna was naked, they hung her from a hook on the wall. 

Inanna shouted, “No. I sent the heroes to kill Kur. I am the reason you are invited to the feasts at our father’s house. It is not my fault he favors me.”

Ereshkigal went to her sister and framed her face in her terrible hands. “I do love you, as you are love, but you must be quiet and listen.” When Ereshkigal kissed her cheek, Inanna hung as one dead.

Ereshkigal returned to her throne. She knelt next to Eknidu, her wide wings brushing against the lionesses, brushing against Enkidu. She asked, “Enkidu, with your lust for life, what would you have done?” 

He looked up at her, confused. “What? I do not understand”

Ereshkigal looked at Befit-Sheri. “What would Enkidu have done?”

“He would died trying to protect you,” said Befit-Sheri.

Ereshkigal said, “Are you listening? Do you hear? Is the earth ready to absorb the rain and let the seed grow?”

Enkidu nodded slowly. It was a hard movement to make. He felt so dull and grey in the house of dust. Ereshkigal shaped the clay in front of him into a figure of a man. The duplicate of himself. When she was done, she said, “He will stay with me while you bring word to Gilgamesh of what has happened to Inanna.” Her terrible lips curled. “Bring him the flute that he likes to play.”

This startled a laugh out of him. A cracked reed long dried, but a laugh. 

He tried to stand up. He hardly knew how to move. How to walk. But the lionesses nudged him to his feet. The owls took flight and he followed them to the surface. To the city of Uruk. To his bedroom, where Giglamesh sat on the edge of their bed, weary. More grey in his hair. The dust of some unknown adventure ground into his skin.

The feathers fell like rain from Enkidu's arms, until they were arms not wings. That he wrapped around Gilgamesh, who started at his embrace. Who laughed and cried. They laughed and cried together. In each other’s arms. 

Enkidu did not think of the laughter of Humbaba. He did not think about anything other than kissing Gilgamesh. It was only as Gilgamesh fumbled to remove it, that Enkidu realized he was wearing the belt of Inanna. 

So, at least that hadn’t been lost. He thought for a moment to tell Gilgamesh what had happened, but that thought was carried away in a flood, and waited until morning. For all the night long, they bent themselves to love. To winding flax sheets upon their bed of clay. They could speak of the house of dust in the morning. They could speak of many things. For now, they polished words of love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> https://lithub.com/what-if-we-called-it-the-flax-age-instead-of-the-iron-age/  
> https://archive.org/stream/TheEpicofGilgamesh_201606/eog_djvu.txt  
> Lost section of Epic of Gilgamesh  
> http://www.thehistoryblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/jcunestud.66.0069_w-footer.pdf  
> Gilgamesh and the Huluppu tree  
> http://jewishchristianlit.com/Texts/ANEmyths/gilgamesh12.html  
> Various descriptions of Kur/Dragons in Sumerian literature, which included a short story about Kur and Ereshkigal at the beginning of "Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Nether World".  
> https://www.sacred-texts.com/ane/sum/sum08.htm  
> Background on the White Temple  
> https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/ap-art-history/ancient-mediterranean-ap/ancient-near-east-a/a/white-temple-and-ziggurat-uruk  
> Fashion  
> https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/sumerian/  
> Apkullu  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kulull%C3%BB  
> Dimme-kur  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akhkhazu


End file.
